Chapter Forty-Four

Dante

The van slows to a stop a block away from our target. Through the tinted windows, I can see the brownstone—an innocuous-looking building that holds my whole world captive. My heart rate picks up, a steady rhythm of Addy, Addy, Addy.

I glance at the men around me—Sal, Orlando, and the six soldiers hand-picked for this mission. Their faces are set in grim resolve, mirroring my own. We've been through countless operations together, but none quite as personal as this.

The thought of the woman I love in their hands makes my blood boil. But I force the rage down, channeling it into cold, calculated focus. She needs me sharp, and sane, not blinded by fury.

"Thirty seconds," Cade's voice crackles through our earpieces.

"Copy that." I take a deep breath, centering myself, and then I say to the men, "They're in the basement. The plan is to slip in unnoticed once security is disabled."

It feels surreal, trusting someone with not only zero loyalties to the Outfit but an outright enemy. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Sal, who looks totally composed, except for the finger slowly tapping on his knee. Orlando's eyes are flat and cold as he nibbles furiously on his toothpick.

Yep, all three of us are barely keeping it together. It occurs to me that because of our overwhelming personal stakes, Sal, Orlando, and I should probably not be the ones sent on this mission. We should have gone to Boston and let Nico and his own team deal with Philly. Yet wild horses couldn't drag any of us away from here tonight.

Cade's voice comes on again. "Ten seconds." He counts down and then says, "You're clear for five minutes. Security's down."

We sprint toward the building, pausing to aim and take down the guards.

Just as we reach the front steps, a commotion erupts from inside. The sound of breaking glass, followed by gunshots, shatters the night's silence.

"What the fuck?" Cade's voice crackles in my ear. "Something's going down in there. There are heat signatures all over the place. Activity is now in the front room, not the basement."

"What?" I hiss.

Just then, there's another gunshot, followed by a bloodcurdling scream.

Everyone freezes.

That's Addy. I can pick out her voice in a crowd full of people.

Something snaps inside me, and I bark, "Change of plans. Forget slipping in unnoticed. Speed is the priority now. We crash the party."

My men nod tersely and instantly take formation to attack head-on.

"No, wait, Vitelli. Do not engage yet." Cade's voice comes on, this time like an unpleasant screeching in my brain. I'd almost forgotten the guy was there. Must be the sudden rush of adrenaline bathing my brain.

"I'll take it from here, Quinn. I don't need a road map anymore."

"Are you kidding me? Dumber, if you fuck up my mission—"

"Your mission?" I echo. I swear whatever this guy smokes must be top-notch.

"Surely, you know crashing in could spook those savages into killing the girls. I was under the impression that you needed those women alive—"

And Addy is still screaming.

I've heard enough. "I get the picture, Quinn. You can fuck off now. Thank you."

He goes silent for a beat, then scoffs in disbelief. "You're welcome, asshole." And the line goes dead.

Cade's exit feels like a tight knot has just been loosened in my gut. While I appreciate the man's help, when shit really hits the fan, like it no doubt has right now, going by my woman's anguished screams, which are loud enough to hear from fifty yards away, I am incapable of following anything else apart from my instincts. "We crash in," I tell my men, who all nod curtly. "Now!"

We reach the building, all pretense of stealth abandoned. Sal, Orlando, and I head for the main entrance while the rest surround the place.

As we near the main entrance, I steel myself for what we might find inside.

"Addy, please be fucking okay," I grit out a silent prayer, allowing myself one moment of vulnerability before the soldier in me takes over.

The door gives at the slightest twist of the knob, and I can almost hear the collective sigh of relief from Sal and Orlando. Our weapons at the ready and eye shields pulled on, we move in as a unit.

Thankfully, the hallway is short and unlit.

We hover at the end of the hallway, just shy of stepping into the expansive living room. The first thing I notice is that the opposite wall is almost completely taken up by tall windows, and that the heavy curtains are open. I'm sure the six men currently surrounding the property must be marveling at our good fortune.

"Evening, gentlemen," I drawl as we enter the room fully to face dozens of eyes snapping up to their unexpected visitors. Everything slows as I take in the scene before me.

It's beyond anything I could have imagined. The large airy room looks like a grotesque battlefield. Broken glass is scattered on the floor, and the metallic stench of blood assaults our senses.

"Dante . . . "

The room fades into insignificance when I hear her choked sigh of relief even before I see her.

The feeling that the sound of my name on her lips evokes is indescribable: A compulsion to save her, to protect her with everything inside of me.

In a split second, I take in the threats to her safety.

Addy stands surrounded by at least a dozen men, a vision of desperation. She's dressed only in blood-soaked underwear, her pale skin a stark contrast to the crimson that covers nearly every inch of her. My heart lurches painfully, but then my brain catches up to the fact that there's way too much blood for it to be entirely hers.

Her hair, matted with gore, is wound tightly in the fist of a snarling goon, her lip is split and bleeding, and the ball of her right shoulder hangs somewhat lower. I clench my jaw tight against the overwhelming rage that explodes through me at the sight of that dislocated shoulder. The compulsion to brutally tear apart whoever pulled that shoulder from its socket swells like a beast inside me.

The only thread of reason pulling me from the brink is the look on her face. Her eyes are dark with pain but also something else. Defiance. She's hurt but unbroken.

And then I glance at the floor. It's littered with three bodies. One of them, I realize with shock, is Benjamin O'Shea, his pale eyes staring sightlessly at the ceiling.

But it's the body closest to Addy that both sends shockwaves through me and makes my heart swell with a sick, demented pride. The killing blow is unmistakable. It is the handiwork of a cornered and desperate prey.

Sean Hall lies sprawled on the marble floor, a spoon protruding grotesquely from his eye and a piece of glass from his neck.

"What the actual fuck?" Sal whispers beside me, his voice a mixture of shock and awe.

And then, the moment of stunned silence shatters as one of the gang members screams, "Bloody Italians!" and raises a gun. I don't even think—my body moves on pure instinct. My Glock barks twice, and the man crumples to the floor.

And just like that, all hell breaks loose. The few seconds of hesitation, the element of our surprise entry, is over, and the rest of the men, as if just waking up from slumber, pull out their weapons and fire at us. But the dim hallway presents an excellent barrier. They are four times as many as we are, but we have the advantage of cover.

The one holding Addy ducks behind a chair, roughly pushing her to the floor while the rest boldly advance toward us.

Suddenly, two windows on the far wall explode with a deafening shatter.

The men are yet again taken by surprise. Acting on pure reflex, they drop into crouches. That split second is all the time we need to drop another four or five of them.

Two canisters burst through the broken windows and arc through the air, landing with metallic clangs. Instantly, a pungent gas begins to fill the room. My men and I are prepared, protective glasses shielding our eyes, but within seconds the gang members start to cough and stumble through their tearing eyes.

Gunshots echo through the hall as we drop more of the men. I fight my way to the couch Addy and the goon are hiding behind, taking down anyone who dares to get in my path. From the corner of my eye, I see Sal moving with deadly precision, covering my advance.

Where the hell is Kira anyway?

I don't remember seeing her. I look around the room again, seeing no sign of her. By the time my gaze swings back to the couch, the goon is rising and dragging Addy with him. A wicked-looking knife glints at her throat, the blade digging into her skin.

"Blood for blood," he snarls.

The maniacal look in his red, watering eyes tells me he's not looking to strike a bargain. He knows he's going to die; he just wants to die butchering his enemy. Fuck.

Time slows as I swing my gun to him, knowing I won't be fast enough.

Suddenly, the goon folds, the knife clattering loudly. I whirl to see Orlando who was positioned at the perfect angle and out of sight of the goon. Relief floods me as Orlando gives me a quick nod before turning to engage another threat.

Finally, I reach Addy. She's coughing violently, her puffy eyes red and streaming from the tear gas. She can barely see, but she still tries to defend herself as I approach.

"Hey, hey, I've got you, it's me," I murmur into her hair. "I've got you, amore mio. "

She collapses against me, her body shaking. I hold her tight with one arm, my other hand keeping my weapon ready. Her skin is covered with dried blood and sweat, and she's trembling from adrenaline and fear, but she's alive. She's alive and in my arms.

"Let's get you out of here," I murmur against her temple.

Addy stiffens. "Wait, Kira. Please, she's . . . I don't know where she is . . ."

I glance up to see Sal already taking the door to the left. "Sal will find her, tesoro ."

Addy nods, then hugs me tighter with one arm while her other arm just hangs limply. She buries her face in my neck, her tears soaking my Kevlar as she murmurs against me, peppering my skin with soft kisses and telling me how glad she is that I'm okay.

I walk us out of the house into the chilly night air, unable to believe that even while shaken and hurt, and with her teeth chattering from the cold, she is still more concerned about Kira and me. I wish like hell I'd worn a suit I could put on her.

Orlando appears at my side, his eyes scanning Addy with concern. "She alright?"

"She will be," I say, my voice hard. "Sal's in the basement getting Kira out. Cover him."

He nods, although I can see he badly wants to stay with Addy.

"Capo." He spins on his heels and disappears back into the house, weapon drawn, while I, for the second time tonight, pray.

I pray for Sal's sake that Kira is okay.